


Curse Break

by thebuildingsnotonfire



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), The Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2018-07-22 14:28:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7442728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebuildingsnotonfire/pseuds/thebuildingsnotonfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chicago's finest wizard, Harry Dresden, is wondering what's up with this Storybrooke place. His first client in this strange new world is a boy named Henry Mills. His second is a man called Mr. Gold. Things escalate from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Once upon a time...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Henry likes Coca-cola

I suppose I should have realized it was going to be one of those days when my daughter came home from school with a teacher's note and a black eye.

"I didn't mean to," Maggie, my daughter, said. She kept looking at me, the note, and then the floor. "Tracey Mathis was just saying really bad things about you and . . I . . . I just wanted her to stop."

Right beside her, my mountain bear of a dog chuffed.

"Quiet you," I told him as I pinched the bridge between my eyes. I wasn't actually annoyed with them. Not really. I mean, I'd been in plenty of similar scraps when I was younger, and not a small number of them for a similar reason either. I was the the freakishly tall, gangly orphan kid with weird things happening around him all the time. Any one of those reasons would have been enough. All three and it was practically a school bully buffet. It didn't help that I was what my mentor called 'an ornery pup without a lick of sense.'

My problem isn't the fact that she got in a fight. My problem was trying to wrap my head around the idea of someone picking a fight with my daughter with my enormous grizzly of a dog right there next to her.

How was I supposed to proceed from here? I don't like bullies. Anyone who's ever spent five minutes around me knows that. Even now, when I was supposed to be the smart and responsible one, I just wanted to get her a banana split.

That's when someone knocked on the door.

Our apartment was located on the third floor of a four story complex in a part of Boston that seemed to pride itself on who's hallway smelled more like urine. Polite company was the sort of thing you had to pay for around here. We'd been in our rinky dink place for all of two months. We'd been in this world in particular for a little over three. In that time, no one had ever come looking for us.

"Turn on the lights, sweet pea," I called out to seemingly no one. I'd already grabbed my poor man's staff that I'd placed in the umbrella stand by the door. In the corner of my eye, I saw Maggie retreat into her room, Mouse faithfully following.

Hell's bells, this is what my life's become. Waiting on the next nasty thing that goes bump in the night to literally come knocking on my door.

"All done, father. Want me to get their coats?" Bonnie, my other daughter, replied from nowhere. I felt the wards we set up a few months ago prime themselves for use. Unseen energy thrummed in the background of my senses, waiting to be unleashed.

"That's ok, we're not expecting guests." Translation: _Be on standby._

The runes on my staff glowed an ethereal green and while I didn't feel it, I'm sure the temperature in the room went down by at least five degrees. Frost started to form on the surface of my staff where I was gripping it.

Another knock.

My duster was in the other room unfortunately. I bent down and peered through the peephole. Whatever I was expecting it was not the magnified, smudged sight of a mop of hair that barely reached the lens base.

I moved the staff to the crook of my right arm and readied my shield bracelet in my left. I'd just finished the haphazard thing last week, and I was already using it. I wondered if that was tempting fate.

I unbolted the door and opened it just a few inches. Outside in the hallway, was a kid. He was short, barely making it up to my waist in height. He had freckles, short brown hair, and a disconcertingly cheerful grin on his face.

"Hi!" he said, "I'm Henry. You're the wizard, right? I need you to help me find my mom."

*******

I suppose I should start from the beginning.

My name is Harry Dresden. I have two daughters called Maggie and Bonnie, a dog called Mouse, and a big stick that I occasionally hit people with. We live in a rundown one bedroom apartment on the west side of Boston, MA. My daughter Maggie goes to school with Mouse at Jackson/Mann Public School. My other daughter stays at home rereading library books because she's a spirit of intellect who's already smarter than her father.

I work in construction during the day, and do occasional bouncer work at night. All told, I get about four hours of sleep a day.

I'm also a Wizard. Capital W if you please.

I can do things most people can barely even imagine. A lot of it is something that I've been assured is "impossible" and "crazy" by skeptics. Generally that was after something similarly impossible and crazy came clawing for their throats. As a note of warning, denying that that's a loup garou or a ghoul right in front of you isn't going to make you any less appealing.

I've summoned hurricanes at thugs, thrown down with a skinwalker, and even dropped a frozen turkey on a vampire. I've tangled with enough nasties to know better but I still keep doing it.

I had a business in Chicago, a private investigator firm that I'd been in the process of rebuilding. Finding missing pets, lost items, and even shadowing a wayward spouse or two. It was rough living, but I was good at it. All with a side of doing my best to keep people safe from the nightcrawlers.

That was before here. Before Boston.

I was picking up Maggie from school that day, in person. I'd just finished scouting out an office space where I could set up shop again, and the weather was nice. I'd brought Bonnie with me in her wooden skull vessel to evaluate any potential vulnerabilities in the area. The Carpenters, the family that had taken Maggie in while I was _indisposed_ the year before, would normally get her, but I'd called ahead and let them know I'd be picking her up from her MathMasters after-school program.

The day was warm, and breezy, with a side of a smiling cartoon sun. I'd thought _Eh, why not_ , and gone on foot to pick her up.

After contending with the evaluating and distrusting looks of the school staff, and some of the other parents, they let loose the rugrats plus one giant dog.

I don't remember much beyond this. One moment I'm seeing my daughter walk with her comically oversized service dog. The next there's a slushy of thoughts and emotions that would leave a statue dizzy. Whenever I try to think back, all I get is just a long, drawn-out feeling of utter terror and the oily slickness of something vile but immaterial dripping off me.

I came to in an alley, no worse for the wear except for the kind of headache you should only get in your twenties and a busted lip. I was lying on a large black trash bag with a few sprung leaks in its sides. I remember the smell of gym socks.

Maggie was there, dazed but unharmed. Mouse was there too, alert and on guard, but clearly just as disoriented as me. She still had her backpack with her, her zipper and a copy of "The Wizard of Oz" almost falling out.

After picking up a discarded paper in the street that I saw we were in another state entirely.

After wasting all my quarters on a public phone, I had a suspicion something else was off.

After finding out I couldn't open a Way to the Nevernever, the adjacent/alternate realm to my reality, I was in panic.

A month into our stay here I'd reached a possible hypothesis.

We were in another world. Obviously, I didn't come to this conclusions right away. It took a lot of experimentation on my part, that and some extensive back and forth with my spiritual daughter. I'm not sure which part was harder to accept, the fact that the supernatural didn't exist, or the fact that we'd have to live in a place where the Red Sox were actually liked.

It took a lot of work, and some not-so-above board dealings with my landlord, but we'd finally managed to settle down. Sort of.

Yet, I still can't help but imagine there's more to this.

In my world, I was a warden of the White Council, and even more importantly, the Warden of Demonreach. I'm Mab's handpicked Knight, the Winter Court's very own mortal agent, through which the Queen exerts her wishes on the world of vanilla humans. I had resources and friends at my back that I'd do anything for.

I'm small time compared to some of the people I know, but you don't get to be where I am without drawing attention. I'm wondering why someone would send me and my family to the Outside.

I'm used to being out of my depth, don't get me wrong. But in my experience, most baddies don't take so long to come take you down once they've got you off guard. Letting an enemy, especially a wizard get away, was asking for punishment down-the-line. Most things I know had lifespans that measured in centuries. They can afford to be patient.

After two months, all I have is that the rest of the world is about as dry of magic as I am of money.

Which brings us to now.

When we got dropped here in this place, I had the clothes on my back and fifteen bucks in my pocket. After three months, I have about twenty and a worn out pocket.

The construction and bouncer work paid well enough for one person, I suppose, but with a ten year old girl and a one hundred sixty pound magical dog, things could get tight. There were more than a few nights I had to grab leftovers from the kitchens at the bar.

I'd put out an ad in some of the local papers around here about a week ago, my hopes twofold. If there was some kind of paranormal world here, I'd hope for some kind of contact. That, and, I have to admit, I missed the job itself.

The kid had called me wizard. Which meant he'd seen the ad in the paper. Hah! Take that, internet!

Back home, I had a rather nice apartment, a job, and a steady income as one of the White Council of Wizards wardens. I wasn't always liked, or even respected, but at least I had some footing. Here I have to throw out belligerent college kids out of places because they think enough laminate covers the forty year olds on their fake IDs.

I opened the door just a smidge more and got a better look at him. He couldn't be more than twelve. There was a hint of mischief in his wide brown eyes. He wore a dark brown pea coat with a red and gray scarf, along with a comically oversized backpack.

I fully opened the door then, and stepped back. Just because he looked like a kid didn't mean I was going to lower my guard just yet. It wouldn't be the first time I'd met something that looked like a duck, quacked like a duck, but smiled like a wolf.

"You're just a kid," I noted as I readied my magic.

"I'm almost eleven," he said, as if that made it ok. I wondered if he was one of Summer's—

He stepped into my apartment, and just like that I let the gathered energies dissipate.

Have you ever heard of that old legend that vampires can't cross a threshold unless invited? That's actually true but there's more to it than that. A threshold could probably be described as something like the Empire's forcefield, except instead of being powered via Dark side shenanigans, it's actually fueled via the feelings of home and love of family. In the supernatural world, actions and feelings often have more significance than first glance. We feel safe in our homes, protected. Nothing short of something truly traumatic can take that away. It's especially stronger in old family homes, ones built and lived in by the same family for years if not decades. Those seemingly fragile walls have history in them. That has a special kind of power, something that I've never seen breached overtly without a steep steep price, something all supernatural entities are unwilling to pay.

When a magical being crosses a threshold uninvited, it leaves a piece of itself at the door. The stronger the threshold, the larger the piece. For things like the Fae or a Wizard, that means leaving proportionally larger pieces of your power as the threshold scales. I've done it before, under dire circumstances, but I would honestly never do it unless I had a chance. It was like all my sense were muffled, like trying to listen to a conversation in the next room over with a glass cup pressed up against the wall. A Fae without hostile intentions to the dwellers would have to comport themselves according to the supernatural rules of host and guest, lest they suffer the punishment.

While it's true that me and the kids have only been living here for less than a season, I've made damned sure to show them as much care and love as I can. While what we have may be piddly compared to some of the ones I'd seen, it wasn't nothing and even the weakest threshold grabs the biggest chunk it can from uninvited guests. Crossing's not something that can be done easily, and the fact that this Henry kid just did it without prompt told me he wasn't some bugaboo in human skin.

I tapped my staff on the floor three times, loud enough to be heard from the other room. I immediately felt the primed energies of the wards fade down to their familiar background hum. The door to the bedroom opened, and out poked Mouse's head. He had a big a dopey doggy grin on his face when he saw us.

"Oh cool!" Henry said as he immediately went to pet him. I closed the door and then placed my staff in the umbrella stand. "My mom never lets me play with dogs!"

He dropped his backpack. It wasn't fully zipped, and something slid out. It looked like a book, an old classically leather bound one. It was titled "Once Upon a Time." Looks like the kid was into fairy tales. Hoo boy.

"You know, you should really be careful with your stuff, kid," I bent down and picked it up, "This looks pretty—"

A feeling similar to a livewire sprang along my insides and I instantly dropped the book. There may have been a yelp.

Henry looked back at me, his eyes furrowed. "You ok, mister?"

I looked from the book to the kid. I had a feeling I was calling in sick tonight at the club. "Why don't we sit down and talk about what you need help with, kid. You like Coke?"

*******

We sat down in the living room, me on the folded-in couch sofa, and him in the bean bag chair with three strips of duct tape all around it. A styrofoam peanut flew off as Henry sank further in. Mouse nipped at it, prompting my daughter to giggle.

"He's really big," Henry said, as he brought out and held that _thing_ in his lap. "Don't you guys get in trouble because of him?"

"Mouse pays more rent than half the tenants here."

"Mouse?"

I just pointed to the breathing mountain of fur my daughter was petting.

"Oh right. Mouse."

I smirked. I blame the wizard in me.

"So," I started, and I made sure to look as serious as I could in my worn college hoodie and ripped jeans, "how'd you find me?"

Henry looked away, not meeting my eyes. Probably a good thing too, I didn't exactly want to subject the boy to the horrors of my soul just yet. "Your ad? In the newspaper?"

"I didn't put my address in the paper for a reason, kid."

"I know," he said, all cheerful and completely unaffected by my wizardly stare. "I just called the people at the newspaper office. I just told them you were my dad and that I couldn't remember where our address was."

That . . . was far sneakier than I would have expected of someone his age.

Maggie giggled, and then quieted when we both looked at her. She hid her face in Mouse's coat. The mutt looked suspiciously innocent.

I felt the tension in my neck and shoulders loosen. I might not have the best judgment, but Mouse had never steered me wrong. Sometimes I wondered if he took care of me more than I took care of him. If he was good with the random ten year old who showed up on my front step, who was I to complain?

There was a sound of a car backfiring from the street, startling me out of my thoughts. Of course, this immediately prompted the baby one floor above us to start crying at the top of his tiny lungs, along with the routine stomp stomp of my neighbors to go calm his down. Little ceiling flakes peeled off and drifted down on us.

I covered my Coke protectively, and leaned forward in my seat. The kid just smiled and took a sip out of his own can. Hell's bells, I'm not a particularly muscular guy, but I'm well over six feet tall. I've been told I look like a less attractive Rocky Balboa after fifteen rounds with Apollo Creed. I don't generally think of myself as a bad guy but normal people don't just feel at ease in the presence of guys like me.

Mouse trotted over and graciously started licking my face.

"Ack." I batted at him, who immediately knocked my hand aside with a shake of his head and started again. "Down boy! Down!"

Both Henry and Maggie laughed, and I resigned myself to no longer being the big bad wizard.

I surrendered the Coke to supermutt, and focused once more on the matter at hand.

"You said something about finding your mom?"

"Yeah!" His eyes lit up with wonder. "How are you going to do that, by the way? Is there a spell or something that can- "

I held up a hand. "Back up there, speedy. Why do you need to find your mom? Something tells me you don't exactly need help remembering your own address."

"Not that. I mean," Henry grimaced and then continued, "my real mom. I want to find my birth mom."

Ah.

Crap.

The kid was adopted.

"Why don't you start from the beginning?"

******

Silence reigned.

I've never liked that phrase. My life recently hasn't exactly been what you would call peaceful. I'm the mortal vassal to Mab, the Queen of Air and Darkness. Calling her terrifying would be an insult. Mab's what terror wishes it could be when it grows up. She was knives and ice, and that was when you got her on a good day. If you met her on a bad day you'd be lucky to finish writing the will before the blood dried. And yes, I do mean blood.

I've been in employ to Mab for a few years now. In that time, I've been stabbed, beaten, frozen, bitten, and various other unpleasant things. All of that by her hand. And she was _helping_.

Silence always preceded it. Not always verbal silence, but the kind you feel in your bones, when you're being watched by something bigger, meaner, and with sharper teeth.

That's what I felt right now.

My gut was telling me not to do this. I'd gotten pretty good at listening to it over the years. It'd helped me out of a lot.

This could backfire in so many ways it wasn't even funny. Not only was he adopted, but it was a closed adoption. I'd had clients skimp out on paying me in the past, but I've also had some deliberately make my life difficult after whatever errand they wanted done was fulfilled. A closed adoption meant if someone raised a big enough stink over this, someone might take a closer look at the supposed wizard who lived in conditions clearly unsuitable for a growing ten year-old girl.

As if to punctuate this point, our adjacent neighbor slammed his front door with all the force of an angry Bostonian. The shared wall rattled, and a lone framed picture that'd been hanging fell.

Not to mention the very clearly magical book still in his hands. In my experience those things never brought anything but empty promises and a lot of bruises.

One look at Henry's face though, and I was reminded of a tall gangly teen with attitude problems.

"Alright, I'll do it."

Henry hiccuped. "Really? *hic* Cool!"

My daughter giggled, and it's only then that I realized I was smiling.

Dresden's back in business, baby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got this ridiculous idea one day while rewatching the show. What would happen if Harry Dresden ran into the usual Storybrooke shenanigans and added his . . . spin to them?
> 
> To those who just clicked on this from the OUaT fandom, the Dresden Files is a series of novels written by Jim Butcher about a wizard who advertises in the phonebook. Yes, seriously. The world is complex and intricately designed, and the characters are some of my favorites of all time.
> 
> To those from the DF fandom, c'mon. Who doesn't want to see Dresden interact with classical storybook characters? There's a section involving a dragon that'll be really fun to write.
> 
> Also, to note, Harry Dresden is a lot of things, but one thing he is not is all-knowing. Magic other than his works differently here. He's in for some rude awakenings. 'Til next time.


	2. There was a wizard with a big stick...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which ne'er-do-wells get past Steve the doorman

I wasn't sure whether or not I should be weirded out when Henry didn't question why I needed him to prick his finger on the thumbtack I'd handed him. He did it easily, grimacing ever so slightly at the actual act.

"Are you going to use my blood to track my mom?" he asked as he squeezed a droplet onto a napkin I held out to him. He'd managed to escape the confines of the bean bag and was now walking around, taking in every bit of my apartment. "Are you going to cast a scrying spell?"

My gut twinged nervously at that, but I held myself back from making any comments. Most people didn't even know what that word meant. "Sort of. It's not actual divination in the literal sense of the word; think of it more like a homing beacon."

I wrapped the napkin around a smoky colored feather, and put on my leather duster. It was a baggy thing, that went down to little below my knees, with a seeming endless supply of pockets and straps. I could already feel the sweat start to form.

We had been dropped here right in the middle of summer, and September was just moving in. Some of the dregs of summertime still hung around, little periods of too-hot-sun that made people break out the sundresses and flip flops. I was going to look like one of those people everyone pretends not to see but is perfectly aware are there.

Henry had assured me that his mother was somewhere in Boston. According to some website he'd used to track her (excuse while I get my anti-Orwell spray), Emma Swan last lived at an apartment somewhere in the theatre district. She wasn't there any more, but when Henry had showed up the neighbors had been kind enough to tell him she'd moved less than a week ago.

"You're sure she's in Boston, kid?" I said as I double-checked my incredibly oversized pockets. Wallet, a small bag of sawdust, chalk, a six inch iron spike I'd snagged from work one day, and various other paraphernalia that'd look like the possessions of a nutjob if I ever get frisked. I'd also managed to procure some holy water in a sports bottle from one of the friendlier churches in the city.

"She is." A pause. "She has to be."

I ignored the sympathy pang somewhere in my chest. For his sake, I hoped she was. Orphans have a special way of hurting themselves when it comes to family.

"We'll find her," I promised him. I swear, I could practically feel my soul shudder as I then said something unimaginable. "And you miss missy, you are going to your room to do your homework."

Maggie, who was now sitting on the bean bag chair and holding an ice pack to her face, just blinked her one good eye. "But—"

"Butts are for sitting. At your desk. In your room."

My daughter managed to look politely confused, as if I'd asked where the bathroom was in ancient Thessalonian. Which I have done before, by the way.

I decided to try a different tactic.

"I'll bring back some Rocky Road from that place you like," I said.

She sprang from the chair like a little rabbit and sprinted to the bedroom. Styrofoam peanuts flew off in every direction. Parenting, thy name is bribery.

I looked at Mouse. "Make sure she finishes it."

Mouse just gruffed, somehow managing to look contrite with that mug of his. I don't think Temple Dogs are supposed to be repurposed into overseers of fifth-grade education, but I was a resourceful kind of guy. Mouse was smart, smarter than most people even, and I had a minor suspicion that he considered middle-school Spanish beneath him.

He trotted along with no complaint, which just goes to show you why dogs are man's best friend. They'll put up with the stupidest things. Provided they get some food out of it.

Henry looked completely lost at the exchange. "Can he really understand you?"

I thought back to whenever bathtime came around. "Believe me kid, there are times I wish he didn't."

*******

Trekking through Boston was always an interesting experience. For one thing, the average age always seemed so much lower here. I think I once heard that there were over 100 colleges in the area, and that meant a lot of twenty somethings who thought they'd already had their lives planned out. The general level of entitlement was higher here too, whether because or as a consequence of that, I'm not sure.

The city was connected via a system of above and belowground rail tracks, a subway system established around caveman times. I tried using it once. I'd thought that maybe due to its age it wouldn't run into the problems that came with being around a wizard. I ended up stuck somewhere under Arlington for three hours, between a particularly pushy middle-aged woman, her screaming baby, and a guy who smelled like a chimney.

I'm told that's not unusual around here.

I held the feather in my hand, pinching the stem with my thumb and forefinger. Henry was keeping pace with me as best as he could, skipping ahead whenever he started lagging behind. We'd been walking for about an hour, and while I've sprinted inside an underground semi-sentient prison for longer than that, for a ten year-old who'd already crossed a few states today, that was impressive.

He'd offered to pay for a cab ride. After seeing the cabbie's meter flicker and die pitifully three times when I got near it, I just told the kid that we should walk.

Magical mortals have problems with technology, and not in the can't-figure-out-how-to-turn-it-on sense. Cell phones, computers, microwaves - it all starts going the way of the dodo whenever a wizard steps into the room. The newer the technology, the faster the effect. And if there was some active magic happening, kiss your tv good bye. It's why, even two months after moving in, we used an icebox to keep things cold at home.

The feather tugged upwards as we rounded a corner. To anyone else, it would just look like it was the wind.

I stopped, and took a look around. Dusk had already settled on the city, leaving us standing at a four-way intersection illuminated via several street lamps. The architecture here cast stretching shadows, shapes that, if I looked too closely, reminded me a little too much of the things I'd seen at home.

Chicago, I mean.

"Why'd we stop?" Henry asked, looking around at the people. "Is she here?"

The feather flapped up, towards one of the high rise buildings, housing stone gargoyles at the top. Nighttime gusts carried a lone paper in the air. "She's close." I'd kept my connection to the spell tethered the whole way here, a small anchorage of concentration in my mind. "Give me a second."

Henry's blood was useful for getting us this far. A lot of magic was built on sympathetic properties and connections. Blood was especially powerful. The relationship between a mother and son was practically child's play in comparison to some of the stuff I'd done, and binding it to the physical medium of the pigeon feather was simple. Say what you will about the dimwitted birds, but they had some of the best natural spatial orientation around.

That wouldn't be enough at this point. The spell was great for leading you to the person you were searching for, but it couldn't account for things like distance or turns. The feather just pointed straight towards one of the apartment complexes on the street.

After circling the block I suspected she was on, keeping an eye on the angle the feather pointed up at, I pinpointed her building to be a towering glass mountain that dwarfed the next few over. I had to crane my head to take the whole thing in. It was one of the newer ones, with floor to ceiling windows and a view to kill for. At ground level there was a doorman, dressed smartly and ready for any ne'er-do-wells.

Well, she's certainly taking care of herself.

"That one," I said, pointing to the complex.

Henry looked it up and down, taking in the building. "How'd you know? Why this one?"

I wiggled my fingers. "Magic."

"What?" he said, looking around us. "Already? Did I miss it?"

The kid didn't really catch we'd been following a feather this whole time. "Magic is at its best when you can't see it," I said, kneeling down so I was eye level with him, "Now...are you sure you want to do this? It's not too late to turn back. You don't have to do this."

"No." He shook his head. "No, it's ok. I've got this."

If there's one thing I've learned from that year of living with my brother, it's that family is messy. Henry was put up for adoption as soon as he was born. That sort of thing leaves a scar you don't even realize is there.

I stared him for a little longer than needed before nodding. "Alright, let's go meet Emma Swan."

*******

My juvenile friend proved to be more useful than I thought. As soon as we got up to the doorman, the kid immediately turned on the waterworks. After tearily telling Steve the doorman that he and his mom had moved just a week ago, and that he couldn't remember the floor, and that she was going to be really really angry if he didn't make it back in time for dinner, and that I was his gym teacher who had to talk with her about his attitude, and—

At some point I just lost all track because I was trying not to stare at the kid.

The best part? It actually worked. Apparently Steve thought that no ne'er-do-well would stoop so low as to hiccup a particularly gross snot bubble on his three figure shoes. He just waved us through, only glancing at me to give the kind of commiserating look men everywhere give when they see another man in for a long night.

The elevator door opened and let us out at the fifteenth floor. Dark hardwood went out in three directions from the elevator, every few feet of wall interspersed with a stand and some variation of flowers in a glass vase. Off-white paint lended the whole place a very clinical and sophisticated feeling.

Just out of curiosity I reached out with my senses, probing the closest entry ways. Thresholds at all of them. Except one.

There was a tug on the feather in its direction.

Interesting.

"Here we go," I said as we came to a stop in front of a door with cursive script. I pocketed the now useless feather, and reminded myself to scrub the thing clean when I got home. "One family reunion, extra fresh."

There was a moment of silence.

"Look, I think I better explain things to her," I started saying, "I've never done this sort of thing before, but I'm pretty sure we should take it slo—"

Henry pressed the doorbell.

I made a choking sound. As I tried to process the sanity of the child beside me, a woman in red answered the door.

She had long blonde hair that curled towards the ends, prominent cheekbones, and the look of someone who'd already a terrible night. Her eyes were a striking blue, a powerful gaze that immediately reminded me of Karrin Murphy from back home, a five foot nothing ex-cop who can and has kicked my ass multiples times before. She was wearing someone probably very expensive, but whose name I could never pronounce properly; it was the rouge version of a little black dress.

And it's only because my life is what it is that I was able to see distinguish the bloodstain from the rest of the fabric on the hem of her dress. I wonder what that says about me.

"Uh…can I help you?" she said, looking between me and the kid.

"Are you Emma Swan?" Henry asked.

"Yeah," she said. She shot me a questioning look. "Who are you guys?"

"My name is Henry. I'm your so—"

"Harry Dresden," I stopped that train wreck right in its tracks. "And this is...well, I'm afraid I have some news for you."

She tensed up, looking between me and the kid. There was a practiced wariness to her gaze that told me more than she probably wanted to. From this vantage point, I could see the further into her home. No pictures lining the halls. No decorations. Just one pair of heels strewn aside on the floor.

She caught me looking and moved, blocking my sight. Her eyes narrowed into a defiant glare.

The stirring of challenge rose in me. She was tired and alone. Her lack of threshold and home amenities clearly indicated that she held no particular attachment to this place or anyone else, and her beauty spoke for itself. She was a fighter, that's fine, because that would make it all the sweeter when I pushed her down and—

And freeze.

Winter howled angrily inside me, clawing and ripping at the mental cages I slammed over it. Multiplication tables and the elements of the periodic table ran through my mind as I devoted my concentration to that, binding the beast with logic and rational thought. It took a good ten seconds of mental gymnastics.

Being the Winter Knight gave me access to amazing strength and abilities that normal wizards just don't have access to. I can run faster, hit harder, and generally ignore everything but the most crippling amount of physical damage. The downside though, is that with all the benefits come the downsides as well. Winter, even in the most basic sense of concept, is about survival. It is fighting for that last scrap of meat with your bloodkin, hunting that meal on four legs, and making sure your kind live to see spring. The mantle of Winter Knight was like that. It wishes to be used, and it kept fighting me for the chance to be let out. Whenever I did, I became three times as dangerous, but ten times as likely to do something I'd regret.

In my world I was propositioned by Mab, the Winter Queen, multiple times for the position. I accepted at the third.

"Hey kid! Kid!" Emma called out, and it was only then I realized Henry was no longer by my side.

"Do you have any juice?" I heard him call out from within the apartment.

I know it's tacky to brag about your kids, but hell's bells. Maggie and Bonnie would never do this to me.

I hesitated briefly at the entrance, but one step inside and I confirmed that there really was no threshold.

"Ok, that's it, I'm calling the police," I heard Swan say. Then, probably not as quietly she may have hoped, I heard her mutter, "Worst birthday wish ever."

I walked into what I assumed was the main area. It was a big room, all light wood and chalky white; it was something real estate agents would probably call open-concept, but to me just meant roomy. The kitchen seemed more like an afterthought to the floor plan, an addition only there because the designer couldn't figure out how to make empty space and linoleum floor edible yet. There was exactly one empty vase on the kitchen bar, the only decoration throughout the whole place. I spotted some boxes used for office papers in the corner of the room. There was an open wine bottle on the kitchen counter, with a half-full glass next to it. A cupcake with an unlit candle lay on the kitchen island.

I suppressed the shiver down my spine. This place wasn't a home. It was more of a...a stopping point. A place people came to when they can't move forward. I'm pretty sure if I looked upon this place with my Sight I'd see it exactly as is, which in this case would be just as reassuring as having an industrial grade power tool drilling through my teeth.

Henry was rummaging around in her fridge for something, presumably juice. Emma Swan was backing away, keeping her back to a wall, and both of us in her sight.

"Miss, please calm down." I tried to keep my voice soothing, but I think there's only so much one can take while their home is being invaded by a freakishly tall man with an equally sized stick and his apparently insane ten-year old. Honestly, putting it that way, we're lucky she hadn't started yelling yet. "There's an explanation for all of this. Henry, put that down and get over here before I get escorted out of here in handcuffs." And then I thought for a second. "Please."

"Couldn't you just make them go 'poof' with your magic?"

I gritted my teeth and imagined a world where ten year old boys named Henry behaved. It was glorious.

Swan immediately started dialing.

Seeing no other alternative, I drew up a small amount of will, focusing on the rectangular object in her hands. _"Hexus,"_ I whispered, barely a note above silent, pointing the end of my staff in her direction. My talents may lie in more refined areas, but I can kill a dozen cell phones just by squinting at them.

No one noticed a thing.

There came a high whistle, followed by a lame and muffled plop, like an air bubble escaping mud. Swan stopped, staring at the now useless piece of glass and plastic in her hands. Then, she tossed it aside, and walked around to one of the built-in cabinets in the kitchen and pulled out another.

Along with...a taser.

"Those are illegal here, you know," I said, keeping my voice mild, but angling my body anyways. My duster would protect me from the worst of it, but I'd rather it not get to that point.

"I'm sure the cops will definitely care about that more than the home invasion," she shot back, backing away further from me and Henry. Her eyes were narrowed, hard and dangerous. "Get out." She gestured to Henry with the taser. "Both of you. Now."

I stared her down as long as I dared before looking away. Drawing her into a soulgaze would not do me any favors right now.

"Ten years ago," Henry interrupted, looking innocent as a cherub, "you gave up a baby for adoption."

Swan's mouth dropped open. "What- how did you…"

"That's me." Henry walked up to her, completely unconcerned about the taser. He held out his hand, "Like I said. Hi, my name is Henry. I'm your son."

I swear, a universe where they behave. That's all I wanted.

*******

"And you're...who, exactly?" Swan asked, pointedly avoiding looking at Henry. "His dad? His caretaker?"

I snorted. Not on my life. "Private investigator, actually."

We were all sitting around Emma's kitchen's island, on bar stools that seemed engineered for maximum squirming. After everyone calmed down, and all the potentially illegal objects were put away or at least put _out of sight_ , Henry got to explaining everything. About how he'd used the internet to track her down, how he'd been waiting for his first chance to find her, skipping state lines and all. It was really a very good story, and I'm sure I would have appreciated it had Swan not kept glaring at me the whole time.

As if it were my fault the boy had no impulse control.

"A P.I.?" Her eyebrows went up. "You got your license on you to prove this?"

"He's a wizard," Henry said, grinning ecstatically. There was a glass of mango-banana juice in front of him. A small petty side of me wanted to dump it over his head.

"Really now?" Whatever respect there may have been died a swift and brutal death. "Did he tell you this himself?"

I cleared my throat purposefully loudly. " _Actually,_ Henry came looking for me." I gave the kid my best version of the stink-eye. "Had to cancel tonight's shift at my other job for this and everything."

__Swan looked unconvinced. "Uh-huh. And I suppose your day job is as a headmaster of a British boarding school too."_ _

__I bared my teeth in a not-smile. "They kicked me out. Said I made them all look bad."_ _

__"I'll take your word for it," she said, in a tone that told me the exact opposite. I saw her hand twitch in the direction of her taser, now in the drawer right beside her. "In any case, we need to get you home kid. Your parents must be worried sick."_ _

__"Oh yeah!" Henry looked undeservedly elated at the idea. He'd taken his book out and had been leafing through it. "We need to get back so you can fix everything."_ _

__Swan shot me another suspicious look, as if blaming me for whatever flight of fantasy got to him this time. "Fix what, exactly?"_ _

__"You'll see."_ _

__Kids, almost as a rule, are rather terrible secret keepers. Even now, from what I could see, Henry was itching to to tell her everything, and I have to admit, part of me was curious too. The kid hadn't told me anything about his birth mother needing to 'fix' anything. I'd been keeping an eye out for any strange behavior, but other than him having no sense of personal space or tact, he was a normal ten year old as far as I can tell…_ _

__...which in retrospect, should have been the first sign. Normal children don't just up and leave their families, hop on a bus and go looking for someone based on the hearsay and results of one website. Normal ten-year-olds also don't have the kind of money to pay for a two hundred mile trip to Boston, plus taxis, snacks, et cetera._ _

__They also typically don't have the funds to pay a wizard PI by commission, even if said wizard had killer rates._ _

__A sinking feeling settled in my gut. "Henry, just how are you planning on paying me?"_ _

____

The boy took out a piece of plastic from his tattered backpack. There were pretty little flowers on the face of it. "Do you take credit cards?"

*******

The ride up was uncomfortable to say the least.

"Hey, uhhh, can you give me more room?" I heard Henry say from the back seat. "It's kind of cramped here."

He was actually pinched between the microsuede upholstery of the car siding and the living furnace that is my dog. Mouse for his part, just grunted and gave the standard token effort he had the last two times Henry asked the question. I was fortunate enough to enjoy the scene from the front passenger seat of Emma Swan's yellow Volkswagen Beetle.

If nothing else, I'll give the woman style points. It still wasn't nearly as cool and mighty as my old ride, the _Blue Beetle_ , but _she_ wasn't a wizard who once uppercutted a skinwalker.

"This is _so_ not how I was planning on spending my birthday," Swan muttered to herself. "A bit of wine, some chocolate mousse and a Patrick Swayze marathon. That's all I wanted." I saw her glance up into the rearview mirror. "Don't even think of drooling on the lining. I don't care what your owner says, I am not afraid to drench you." She held up a water bottle in what I assume was meant to be a threatening manner.

Mouse gave her his best clueless dumb dog look. I consider it a point of pride that I've learned how to distinguish those.

Convincing Swan to let me tag along on her impromptu trip to Maine wasn't difficult. I'm not sure if it's because she didn't want to argue anymore, or if my offhand comment about calling the police ("I mean, logically, I have no way of verifying you'll take him back. After all you _are_ his birth mother. Wink wink. Hint hint.") did the trick, but she caved in easily. Getting her on board with Mouse and the kids though, was a whole other problem.

Like hell am I leaving Maggie and Bonnie alone in this universe, this bizarro world, even for a night. Mouse is fantastic, probably the best kind of protection I could ask for short of the squad of secret super angels that'd been guarding Maggie's previous home. I've never seen anything get past my dog when it came to detecting entities of ill-intent.

But they're my kids. Mine. And not even Mab herself could keep me from them.

(Not to say that I'd want her to try, because I have a very healthy, very vast, and most importantly very _alive_ respect for my boss. Former boss. Er.)

I turned to look at the back seat. Henry was in the passenger's side seat, somewhere between squished and jammed in the space leftover from Mouse in the middle, and Maggie on the opposite end. There was a tiny sliver of drool running down her cheek as she snoozed the night away.

I'd opened my window just a smidge to refresh myself from the broil of the day. Brisk, cold air flew in through the gap, along with the occasional droplet of summer rain that had started as soon as were were out of Boston proper. There was something refreshingly familiar to being cramped up in the front seat of a car that had no business holding someone of my height.

In one of my many pockets, there was a wooden miniature skull; something I'd whittled in my down time back home, when I still had some. It felt unusually warm, a little heating block that warmed my body in the cooling Maine weather. Bonnie was excited.

I checked the mirror once more. Henry had that book out again. I tried not to look at it, my head panged like imaginary nails being sledgehammered into the drywall of my psyche whenever I did.

That was the real reason I was coming along. Claiming I needed to get paid was good enough for Emma and Henry, but I wouldn't do this just for a few bucks and a night of lost work.

I'd been inspecting Henry and his aura for any sort of magical tampering whenever I got the chance. The book was clearly important to him, worryingly so if the one time Maggie had asked to see it was any indication. He'd immediately gone stiff, before weakly nodding and handing the book over. My daughter, demonstrating all the tact and care that she definitely did not inherit from me, only briefly looked at a few pages before handing it back.

Maybe this whole thing blew up in my face. Maybe it didn't. But that book was the first sign of something real, of something familiar. Yeah, we've carved out our own little space in that hole in the wall we called our apartment. But it wasn't home. Home was back Over There, wherever that was. Billy and the Alphas. Butters. Michael and his family, the Carpenters.

Molly. Thomas. Murphy.

I was going to find a way back.

"Are you sure you want to come with us, Mr. Dresden?" Henry asked, flipping more and more through his leather bound book of fairy tales. There was a kind of anxiety to his hand movements that I'd only seen in people who were expecting something terrible. "I can just have my mom mail a check or something."

"You stole your schoolteacher's credit card, kid," I caught his face in the rearview reflection. At least he had the grace to look embarrassed. "Your schoolteacher. I bet she wears a pink cardigan and thinks you're a little sweetheart too."

Henry was silent. I couldn't help it, I chuckled.

"And yet, you're the one who accepted his request when he showed up at your front door," Swan said, exercising her natural born right to have an opinion about things without knowing all the facts.

I watched a sign saying "Welcome to Storybrooke" pass us by. Before I could properly reply...that's when I felt it.

There are certain things that, as a wizard, you get used to. Sudden and often violent bursts of action. Long drawn out nightmares that keep you up in the middle of the night due to just knowing too much about how the world really works. Cold showers.

I'm used to all that, but if there's one thing my mentors beat into me over and over - before all the fire and the rituals and the wielding of primordial forces of the universe - it was the feeling of a circle going up and breaking off contact with the world outside.

And that's what it was. A ward. A barrier. Whatever it was, as soon as we crossed over the town line, I felt it close behind us - the energy rippling out in enormous mystical waves, and thundering into my mystical senses like a battering ram.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Henry is such a little jerkface sometimes, and I love him for it. Early season 1, he's all gung-ho about Emma breaking the curse on Storybrooke, thinking it would solve all his problems. He's also tricky enough to totally take advantage of the fact that he's a kid and people underestimate him when they see him.
> 
> Observant readers of the DF will notice that Harry still has the Winter Mantle. Make of that what you will.
> 
> 'Til next time.


	3. And one day he came to town...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the S.S. Dresden Tickle battleship is defeated through deceit and cunning.

"Stop the car."

Swan just gave me a disturbed side glance. "Excuse me?"

My vision swam, still disoriented from the psychic backlash of crossing the town line. " _Stop the car,_ " I growled.

She looked over. I'm not sure what she saw in my expression but whatever it was, it was enough to change her mind. We hadn't been going very fast; the rain was picking up and the lack of street lights had warranted caution. We rolled to a stop on the side of the road, parking in a rapidly forming puddle.

I heard Mouse in the back, his chest rumbling like a basso locomotive. He'd felt it too, whatever that'd been.

"Stay here," I said to everyone in the car. Maggie had woken up either as a result of us stopping or me talking; her eyes were wide and glassy. Henry was biting his lip and Swan looked like she wanted to hit me. I turned to Mouse and said, "Keep them safe."

Mouse gruffed and then followed me out of the car, climbing over and out through the front seat. He immediately stood at attention, alert and ready.

"What's going on?" Swan said, "What the hellare you doing?"

I ignored her and grabbed my staff that'd been laid down lengthwise in the little car. The rain came down in large droplets, pounding the roof of the vehicle and drowning out the sound of the forest around us. Enormous fir trees surrounded us, looming overhead, their bristles stirring in the wind. There was a ditch on the opposite side of the road, hidden from any oncoming traffic via an adventurous bush that'd crept out into the road.

I looked back at where we'd come from. The psychic ripples had calmed, grounded and been washed away by the rain, but my head still rang with the aftershock. The area was clear - no crazy physical phenomena, no absurd expression of reality falling apart. Just a pair of signs on both sides of the road - the original _Welcome to Storybrooke_ and a second one that said _Thanks for Visiting Storybrooke_.

I strode towards them, gathering what power I could and funneling it into the staff. The runes, designs and patterns I'd meticulously carved into the wood flushed alight with a greenish glow as I moved forward and away from the car. It was tougher than normal, the rain washing out the magic in the staff as easily as I fed it, but I still managed.

Even with the rain, the hairs on the back of my neck were raised. My chest felt like it was being constricted with tension. Waiting. Wary.

I knew this feeling. Stars and stones did I know this feeling.

Something was watching us.

I raised my staff and slammed it on the ground, pouring my power through the base and into the earth, probably rustling some underground critters. The unseen wave of power didn't travel very far in the rain, but I didn't need it to. I was just scoping the area. I took a few more steps and repeated the process.

On my third try, I found what I was looking for. Instead of washing away, the energy I'd put into the strike came up against something invisible and unmoveable, like waves on a rocky cliff. I'd found the edge of the circle.

Now all I had to do was just find the conduit and—

I stopped.

There was no conduit.

In all my time as a wizard, whenever a circle had been used there was always something powering or holding it together. The components of a circle are fairly simple: something physical to shape the circle, something spiritual to start the circle, and something to power it. It could be done with a piece of chalk, a drop of blood, and the will to use it.

I'd seen some impressive circles in my time and even better, been caught in some too. There's nothing like a little bit of life-and-death to really make you appreciate basic geometry. But in all those times there was a conduit, a physical base that shaped the circle. That was the weakness of circles. While they could keep magical and spiritual beings and attacks out with no problem, all you had to do was disturb the circle physical and suddenly you just have a really well drawn outline. It took an act of will, an ability to choose to do so, but that was it.

I'd never heard of a circle with no physical component.

I reached out with my right hand, focusing on holding the magic just barely above my skin. Sure enough, I felt the usual implacable tinge of energy.

"Dresden!" I heard Swan say, followed by the sounds of a car door closing. "Are you insane? Get back in the car!"

Ignoring her, I raised my staff to the edge of the circle and prodded the ground where the physical boundary should be.

It was only because I'd felt something like it before that I survived. Energy, chaotic and wild, directed by the kind of malice I had literal nightmares about, formed and took shape. The sky ripped open suddenly as a _bolt of freaking lightning_ came down, slamming into the earth not even ten feet away with all the force of an angry deity. A scene not unlike a tear in the seam of the world sizzled its way into my mind, the afterimage practically burned into my retinas.

I was already in the process of throwing myself away from the spot when it came and that still didn't stop me from being plowed in mid-air by the concussive blast of the strike like Muhammed Ali and a particularly annoying punching bag. There was a low-toned _whumpf_ sound, followed by me being blown away, pounded on all sides by some giant invisible asshole's hammer.

At some point I landed on my front, jostling the insides of my skull even further, because this was turning out to be exactly that kind of day.

There was an overwhelming sense of satisfaction from . . . somewhere. I was having trouble distinguishing my sight from my other senses. Light blended into green, which mixed with the taste of coconut mango daiquiris. I think there was something warm in my mouth.

I turned onto my back, and looked, blinking the stars away as best as I could. The lightning stuck with me, finding home on the inside of my eyelids. My staff had flown off from the blast and with it my source of light in the pitch darkness of the New England forest. Instead I sent power through my pentacle, a silver five-pointed star I had on a leather strap hanging around my neck.

Ether light flowed out from my necklace, a silvery illumination that cut through the ebony night. It wasn't all that strong (the world was still busy playing see-saw with my balance) but it was enough to see the aftermath.

And the hundred foot plus tall tree headed straight for my face. Wooden viscera were flying off in every direction from the shattered base. It creaked ominously down towards me and it was then I realized that it wasn't stopping.

I tried lifting my hand up, trying to interpose my shield charm between me and mother nature's fly swatter. Something between me and my body must have still been on the fritz, because all I could manage was a pathetic weak flop.

My whole body seemed numb. I stared up at my wooden doom. Hah. Wooden doom.

That's when Swan showed up at my side, a guardian angel in an overpriced red leather jacket.

"Come on," she said, kneeling down by my side and disregarding the giant creaking conifer above her. "Come _on_ , Dresden!"

She raised my left arm at just the right height, and that's when I did it. I flooded my shield charm with all the magic I could muster, fueling it with all my fear and rage, with a sprinkling of soul. The Soulfire fueled shield appeared above us, an eight feet long semi-transparent concave quarter sphere that rippled with blue-white light wherever the rain hit it, angling to the right.

The tree slammed into it, ancient bark and the sheer mass of it breaking over the rapidly fading construct, and I heard the snap crackle pop of one of the charms on my bracelet exploding from the mental feedback. My wrist felt hot for a brief second, but that too was forgotten in the face of literal tons of wood ready to flatten us. There was no way we'd survive, even if we stayed under there. My shield wasn't a turtle shell we could stay inside. The splinters and edges of the tree would still crush us, even if the shield didn't give first.

I felt the pressure on the shield increase and winced. It was an almost physically tangible feeling in my body. And then, I gathered my will, and launched the second spell, snarling, " _Forzare._ "

A lance of pure invisible force flew from my outstretched palm and slammed into the back of my shield, straining my charm bracelet even further. I'd altered the spell to be more of a push instead of a punch, and the trunk of the tree groaned, shifting slightly to the side. My arm felt bizarrely hot, even with the Mantle active. I'd never deflected something with this much mass before and I could feel the strain just holding my shield. The shield pushed, redirecting the trunk a few inches off course.

Which is all we needed - by then Swan had managed to drag me away from the landing site. I realized that at some point I'd managed to get to my feet.

The enormous lumbering mountain crashed, a fell giant brought down. Bristles and branches flew in all directions and I felt something sting against my cheek, followed by the usual cool numbing sensation of the Winter Mantle taking action. The ground shook with the footsteps of a cacophonous titan. The crickle crackle of wood splintering and exploding echoed in the road around us and the rain felt unusually warm compared to earlier.

We stood there for a second, observing the spectacle. My staff was trapped beneath the log, and I had to suppress the reflexive urge to go get it. There's no way I could get it out of there...not without pissing off whatever it was that wanted me away from the circle's edge. I couldn't feel it anymore, but that didn't mean it wasn't still watching.

Death by collapsing tree was a first, even for me.

I looked at Swan. She was pale and trembling. Her eyes were wide and in awe as she took in the sight of the tree that nearly made a wizard pancake out of me. She must have caught me looking because she turned to me and said, "Your lip's bleeding!"

I put my fingers to my lips and looked at it. Crimson blood shone cheerily in the light of my pentacle. I guess that explained the warmth in my mouth. It must have happened in the original blast.

"Red's not really my color," I muttered, wiping it against the sleeve of my duster. I wasn't particularly worried about anyone getting ahold of my blood, not in the rain, tempestuous as it was now.

There was a rumble from the sky, a world-encompassing drum that threatened an encore.

"We need to get you to a hospital," Swan said, grabbing me by the arm and dragging me to her car, away from the wreckage behind us.

As a general rule try not to stick around places where people order a hit on me, so I followed. I wouldn't want to hurt their egos with my continued survival.

I cut the light to my pentacle as we approached the car.

"No hospitals," I grunted. I'd get admitted straight to the ER just by virtue of being so close to that lightning strike. It would be full of sensitive equipment and technology that wouldn't last three seconds in my presence.

"Excuse me if I don't care what you think." She went around the driver's side, and put her arms up over the car's roof. "You could be seriously injured and not even know it."

"I think I'd know if I got electrocuted."

"I dunno', you can't seem to keep your mouth shut. I've heard that's a sign of brain damage."

"I'm always like this!"

She smirked. "Like I said, brain damage."

I gave her the finger and Mouse my best reassuring grin, but my face felt funny and I'm not sure it came out right. The big grey dog decided to nudge my hand and then gently guide me back into the car. Once I got in he clambered up and into the back seat in one sleek motion. Swan got in the driver's side and closed the door, the sound strangely far away right now.

"Tch!" I looked over and saw Swan fiddling with her extra phone. The screen was as black as the night outside. Heh. Wizard: 2, Cell phones: 0. "Stupid thing. Come on, I'll get you there myself."

My brain felt like it'd been put through a bonus round of bumper cars, and that goes to show just bad it was because I don't think that analogy works.

"Daddy?" I heard Maggie say from the back seat. Though every part of my neck and head protested liberally, I turned to look at her. "Are you ok?"

There were tear tracks down her face, and she was holding Mouse's fur coat with the kind of grip that told me the ground disappear from underneath her if she let go. I swallowed the rage that erupted beneath me at the sight, compartmentalizing it for later when there was a liberal amount of breakable things in reach.

"Hey, honey," I said. My voice sounded like it'd been dragged across sandpaper. "Don't worry, daddy's not going anywhere."

*******

We drove the rest of the way into town in silence, which allowed me to go over what happened back at the town line.

It'd been awhile since I felt it, but there was no mistaking the feeling of an entropy curse, or more specifically in this case, an Evil Eye. All magic has its own flavor so to speak, but the Evil Eye was a special brand of gulag goop. Seemingly random and natural events taking shape in a way that conveniently brings about someone's often grisly and untimely end. It was the giant rolling boulder of mystical assassinations - all you have to do is get out of the way. In no way subtle but damn effective.

That isn't what bothered me. What was truly disturbing was how incredibly _fast_ the curse took form. Calling down lightning was impressive (though not so much when all the tools were already there) but you still had to prime the electrical charges in the air by exciting them. Directing it while already formed was damn near impossible.

I consider myself pretty talented when it comes to destructive magic. In my world, I wouldn't be lying if I said that it was something I'd become known for. I preferred fire and force myself, and I'd developed a predilection for ice recently as well. That lightning came with barely a second's warning. I tried to imagine the kind of entity that could shape their will so precisely in so short a time and suppressed a full body shudder.

Another thing that was bizarre was the absolutely monstrous scale of this circle. I'd been keeping an eye out for the edge of it, but we were at least a few miles away from the town line, and still nothing. Before this, the biggest one I'd seen had needed to be powered by freaking Lucifer, and that was large enough to cover a few buildings.

None of it added up.

I looked out the window and tried to suppress the stress ache forming behind my eyes.

"No hospitals," I repeated to Swan, eyeing the road sign indicating Storybrooke General Hospital was two miles down and on the right. She didn't reply.

We were driving down what I presumed was Main Street. There were mom and pop shops on both sides, with a single diner standing out among them - some place called "Grannie's." There were a few cars parked in front of stores where their owners lived above, but the road was barren otherwise. The rain had subsided, leaving only the wisps of steam from late-summer rain to rise from the asphalt. Everything was closed of course, because normal sane people don't go on a three hour trip on the interstate at 9pm on a weekday. I didn't have a watch on me but I'm pretty sure it was already well past midnight.

Maggie had succumbed to sleep once more, with Henry joining her soon after. Their light snoring filled the inside of the yellow bug, soothing me more than any medication. I hid my left hand in one of my leather duster's pockets. The wrist that held my shield bracelet ached with the long drawn out burn of being held too close to a campfire. Fortunately the leather glove I wore had kept off the worst of the damage. I could feel the Winter Mantle working to muffle the pain, but I suppressed it. The more I relied on that damning power the harder it would be to say no.

We passed the turn that lead to the hospital and I breathed a sigh of relief. I wasn't feeling up to arguing with her about my avoidance of the place.

"What was that light trick you pulled back there?" Swan asked, startling me from my thoughts.

I looked at her, taking in her expression. Then I shrugged and looked out my side window. Might as well go with a classic. "It's a gift from one of the guys at the bar I work at. Some kind of light up jewelry, used for finding your way in those wave things."

"Raves?"

"Yes. That."

She grunted, apparently satisfied with me showing my age.

Something on the side of the road caught my eye. "Stop right here," I said, sitting up straighter.

She raised an eyebrow and glanced in the rearview mirror at Mouse and the kids. "I thought you wanted to talk to Henry's mom about payment?"

"She'll have enough on her hands tonight, what with the biological mother of her adopted child showing up in town."

Swan grimaced. "I'm just here to drop him off. That's it."

_Yeah, keep telling yourself that_. For once in my life, my mouth thought discretion was the better part of valor. "In any case, I'm beat. I need some Z's before I can even think about money."

For the second time that night the yellow Volkswagen came to a stop on the side of the road. We were in front of a large cottage house, one of those old style rustic places you could only find in northern New England. There was a street light illuminating the area by casting funky shadows on the front siding of the place. Some of the shingles were missing. A quick search found them gathered in a pile in front of a curtained window.

As the car was put into park I heard stirring in the backseat.

"Are we there already?" Henry asked groggily.

"Not quite, kid," Swan said, putting the car into park, "Gandalf's going to stop here for the night."

"Lady, Gandalf _wishes_ he had my moves." I unbuckled, opened the door and let my legs bask in the feeling of not folding into themselves. The cool Maine air felt especially fantastic now that I didn't feel like an extra on the set of Alien. After a few seconds of pure bliss we set about grabbing the sports bags with all our stuff we'd stored in the trunk.

It nearly broke my heart to wake Maggie up again, but I did not want to be around when Swan dropped Henry off. I'm pretty sure being named as the guy who reunited them in the first place would not earn me any points with the boy's mother.

It had nothing to do with the fact that Granny's Bed and Breakfast had a big handwritten sign on their front lawn advertizing a free breakfast to any prospective tenants.

A few months ago I could have easily carried her out and up to the door but since then she's shot up like a weed. I guess she inherited more from me than I thought. I had to coax her from her slumber and guide her out of the back seat all while dealing with the sleepy grumbling of ten-year old girls, and yes it was just as sugary sweet as it sounds.

"Uh...Mr. Dresden," Henry called out when he was liberated from his confines besides Mouse. He had that book in his hands. "I'm sorry. About everything."

"Don't worry about it, kid." As much crap as I gave him on the way up here, I'm not going begrudge a child for wanting to find family. "I needed the vacation anyways."

I had enough in savings to last us a few days and I was planning on cashing in my sick time too. My bosses weren't going to be happy, but there was no way I was making it across that town line with that trigger-happy _thing_ around.

"No, not that." Henry bit his lip. "The curse. You weren't supposed to cross over."

"What?"

That's when Swan slammed the door, interrupting us. "I'm not running a cabbie service here, Dresden. Are you going inside or not?"

I tried to remember that this was the woman who saved my life tonight already. "Has anyone ever told you you have a wonderful personality?"

"Uh...can't say that they have."

"Good."

There was a moment of silence, and then, "I will never understand why someone chose to procreate with you."

I smirked. "Chicks dig Wizards."

Swan let out a laugh. A full-on genuine laugh that made her look a decade younger. "Keep telling yourself that," she said, and then got in the driver's side seat. "Take care of yourself, Dresden."

"Wait!" I searched my pockets for one the business cards I'd printed last week. "Here. If you're ever in a tough spot, let me know. I have a special "Save-my-life" policy. One free job, whatever you want, within reason."

She took the pasty white and crumpled business card through the window and looked it at it, turning it over. "Within reason?"

"No love potions, endless purses, parties, or other entertainment," I listed off by rote. "Or lottery numbers. You would not believe the amount of people who want an easy Powerball over a hard day's work."

She smiled and bid goodbye. She drove off, chuckling at the expense of the clearly delusional middle-aged man who thought he was a wizard. Hah, shows her; I still had a good 60 years before I was anything more than young by my kind.

As we walked up to the house, I forced myself to remember everything about what Henry said before we were oh so rudely interrupted.

A curse huh?

*******

The room we rented for the night was at least twice the size of our living room in Boston. Turns out a dollar or fifty gets you a lot farther in Maine than it does in basically the rest of the civilized world. I can't remember the last time I stayed in a motel that didn't start in the triple digits per night. Don't get me wrong, there's nothing wrong with the awesome and amazing life of a wizard, but awesome and amazing doesn't pay the hot water bill every month.

"Breakfast is from 7AM to 11AM at my diner down the road," said Granny, as she handed me the key to the place. "Quiet hours are in effect from 9PM to 8AM, but no one is usually here at that time so just don't wake the other guests."

I looked down at the thing in my gloved hand. It was old, somehow fashioned from wrought-iron and with a snowflake on the handle. I wish I were joking. Somewhere, a jerk wearing my face and a goatee was laughing his ass off.

I was tempted to ask her what other guests, but something in her expression told me not to.

"Granny", as she told me to call her when I walked in with Mouse and Maggie, had the stern looking expression of a blacksmith and the weather-worn features of someone who was too busy to deal with us young-uns for long. She was a stout but strong woman with curled neck-length silver gray hair. Her eyes were the color of steel, with a stare that said _you better put those cookies back where you got them from young man._

I could literally feel myself correct my posture in her presence.

"We won't be a bother, ma'am," I said, and wondered when that new filter between my brain and my mouth got installed. "We're only sticking around for a few days anyways. Thank you very much for accepting us so late."

Granny just looked at me over her glasses with a familiar scrutinizing look on her face. It was at that time that both Maggie and Mouse yawned in sync. Almost immediately, the suspicion and doubt melted into that expression everyone gets when confronted with an overload of cuteness.

"You just make sure the little one gets some rest, Mr. Dresden," Granny said, smiling down at my daughter with the warmth of a Christmas fireplace. Suddenly, she snapped eyes with my own, her gaze as hot as the coals. "What were you thinking, dragging a child around in the middle of the night like this?"

I looked away because I wanted to avoid a soulgaze. Honest. "Just a bit of business that brought us up here. I'm afraid it was rather urgent."

She made a sound somewhere between disapproval and disappointed before she left. "Bathroom's three doors down the hall on the right."

We entered the room proper. I had with me a large black sports bag that held my change of clothes for a few days, some kits that I brought just in case, Mouse's food and bowls, and my unfinished blasting rod that I'd been working in on the five or so minutes I usually got before bed. I had an exact double on my other shoulder, except hot pink, and in it were Maggie's change of clothes, her schoolwork, and some books I'd gotten from the library last weekend.

I dropped the bags on the floor and collapsed face-front on the bed. It smelled like mothballs and stale bread and it felt heavenly.

Maggie and Mouse jumped on the mattress in unison and launched an attack at the S.S. Dresden Tickle battleship. I fought back hard, bringing her to giggles in seconds, but alas I was weary and outnumbered. The conniving duo won through trickery and deceit, and their reward was me reading a few pages of "The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe" to them. I made sure to do the voices just right.

I watched them for a few minutes. I had no doubt Mouse could probably handle staying up for another fortnight if he needed to, but I owe that dog more than I can possibly repay. Let him rest.

Besides, it was bonding time with Bonnie.

I took out the wooden skull from my pocket. It was a smaller version of something I'd crafted months ago, except even more crude due to the size. I don't know why she asked me to make her a brand new one, but I did. It had runes and carvings on every single bit of bare surface I could manage.

"Bonnie," I said, "are you up?"

Of course, I knew that as a spirit of intellect, an entity of nothing but accumulated knowledge, Bonnie never actually slept. She described it more as a state of non-awareness, while still processing everything happening around her. It was very zen.

Little amber lights flickered into existence, as if someone were opening her eyes. "Good evening, father!" she greeted, the sound emitting from the place where the mouth was on the skull, "I'm happy to see you were not crushed!"

"Same here." I stood up and stretched. Though the Winter Mantle passively suppressed all pain, I'm pretty sure my back's been getting steadily worse since sleeping on the couch for several months straight. There was a loud and masochistically satisfying 'crack', and then I let out a pleased sigh. "Ready to get to work?"

"Of course!" she chirped. I swear, she was far too peppy sometimes to be my brainchild. "The usual set up?"

"Hit me with something stronger. I want to have some better stuff up by sundown tomorrow. And in the meanwhile you can tell me what you know about circles."

And then I set about crafting wards for our room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry Dresden does not do quiet entrances. Period.
> 
> First action scene of the story here, what with the lightning, and the crushing and the really humongous tree. Nothing like a little mortal peril to make you feel home.
> 
> Yes, Dresden just lied to Emma's face about the amulet. No, she did not fall for it.
> 
> And a mystery is afoot, because hey, it wouldn't be Dresden if everything was out in the open. Of course, he's still under the impression things here operate like he's used to. Oh dear.
> 
> Comments and critiques are most welcome!
> 
> 'Til next time.


	4. To protect a young boy...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Regina doesn't move an inch.

I woke up to the sound of birds chirping.

As far as waking up in unfamiliar places went it was rather pleasant. No unforeseen body aches that I could have ignored ten years ago, no Faery Queens ready to Cuckoo's Nest me with throw pillows, and best of all, none of that miserable sleep-deprived feeling I'd become best friends with in recent months. For once I felt completely well-rested.

I pinched myself just to make sure.

I was lying on top of the bed in the room we'd rented with my head sunken into an excessively fluffy pillow. Maggie lay next to me, locks of her dark hair over her face, interrupted with her quiet breathing. She had changed into her pajamas at some point while I was sleeping, though I was still wearing my same hoodie and jeans from last night. The morning sun poured in from the window and stabbed cheerfully at my eyeballs.

There came a muffled rattling from the bedside table drawer. I blinked and tried to hotwire the engine that was my memory. Me and Bonnie had worked through the rest of the night on the temporary wards for our room. Without a threshold to bind them to, I had to resort to a quick and dirty setup that functioned more as an alarm system than actual prevention. If I had more time I could probably rig something up similar to an old hidey-hole I had back in Chicago, but that required repetitive scripting and carving into the walls. I'm not sure I would survive Granny tanning my hide once she found out.

I pushed myself up and got Bonnie out of the drawer. Bright blue motes of light appeared in the sockets where the eyes should be.

"Good morning father!" my youngest chirped, "Glad to see you're still alive."

I'm not sure I'll ever get used to her morbid greetings. I tried to reply, but my voice just came out in a rasp that would have left the Emperor writhing with jealousy.

A small hand appeared in front of my face, holding a child sized sports bottle decorated with light green and yellow musical notes. I grabbed it and gulped the contents down greedily.

"Thanks sweetie," I said, patting my oldest on the head, "Good morning you two."

The floor creaked and a second later Mouse rose from a spot in the corner. He trotted up, inclining his head, and I treated him to a handful of scratches.

My brow furrowed as something about this scene cried foul. I know my body well enough to know a few hours should not have been enough to get me back to functional so easily. "How long have I been asleep?"

Maggie frowned, a petite upturn on her mouth. She looked so much like her mother when she was thinking that my heart gave a single but noticeable  _pang_  of pain at the sight. Susan, her mother, had been an amazing woman. She had been a reporter turned half-vampire (no thanks to me) and circumstances had forced us apart, until a few years ago, when she finally let me know about Maggie. The chain of events that followed still kept me up to this day.

I didn't let any of it show except for a long drawn out breath, though Mouse gave a gentle but forceful nudge with his head.

"You've been sleeping for a while," Maggie said, "Since yesterday morning. I tried to get you food but Mouse said not to wake you up."

A full day. I'd slept through a whole day. I eyed my dog. He looked suspiciously innocent, but his tail was doing a fair impression of a hammer on the wall beside us.

"You know I'm going to get into trouble for that," I told him, but the mutt didn't even have the decency to look ashamed. "I'm serious. Not to say I'm not grateful for the sleep, but I needed to make some calls yesterday."

"You were really tired," Maggie said, "and Bonnie said that we could keep guard while you slept."

My own family conspiring against me. "Et tu Bonnie?"

"I said no such thing!" The skull rattled on the wood, "I just told them how they could be useful.."

"You said he could get hurt if no one was keeping watch!" Maggie argued.

"Well,  _obviously_ ," and here, though I couldn't actually tell, I got the impression Bonnie was rolling her little spirit eyes, "Father is too undefended when he's asleep. He needs to be protected."

"Me and Mouse can do that without you telling us to!"

"You fell asleep."

"Girls! Girls!" I hate raising my voice this early in the morning. "Enough. What's done is done. I'm grateful for the sleep, but I really do have business to get to."

They sulked. At least, Maggie sulked. I'm not sure what Bonnie was doing. A skull, especially a fake and wooden one, doesn't lend itself to a variety of expressions.

I wondered when my life had turned into this. Mediating a fight between the daughters I've had with two different women. Err. Woman and spiritual imprint.

"How're the wards holding up?" I asked, throwing my legs over the side of the bed. My back protested angrily at the motion by cracking my vertebrae like walnuts. My neck felt stiff and hot, as if bound by a hot poker, and I was alerted to an uncomfortably tender spot in my wrist. There was a pinkish red criss-cross encircling the limb, and my shield bracelet hung from it limply. The charms and totems had all but melted into slag. I'd left it on all night.

"They'll need to be reinforced before dawn tomorrow, but they are still functional," Bonnie reported, her voice sounding very far away for a moment. "There was a presence yesterday that stayed outside the door and window for an unusual amount of time."

I grunted and started finagling with the clip on the bracelet. "How long?"

"Fourteen minutes and thirty seconds," she promptly replied, "And then twelve minutes and eighteen seconds."

"When?"

"At eight fifteen the first time, and eight fifteen the second."

In my line of business that's what we call "suspicious". Magic is intrinsically tied to belief and the person casting, but there are other things that govern the circumstances around it and its use. Certain phenomena impact the natural flow of magic, and time is one of them. A bad luck jinx cast from the middle of a crowded food court in a mall on a holiday weekend isn't going to have the same oomph as one cast within a catacomb on the anniversary of the deceased's death. It's partly why people had coined the phrase the Witching Hour.

And eight fifteen was too specific to be coincidental. I could just be looking for smoke in this case, but my gut said that there was something to it. As far as I knew the history of this world was mostly identical to my own, but if something from the spooky side of the street thought that was an important time, what I thought didn't matter. There was also the matter of that curse Henry mentioned before he left...

I gathered my things and went down the hall to the bathroom. My skin felt like it would start peeling if it were any more ripe. Good god did that shower feel heavenly. I couldn't remember the last time I'd had a hot shower, and I may have spent more time in there than strictly required of a guest. I've never had a hot water heater last more than a week, so this was a special treat to me. I scrubbed the past two days worth of scum and then let myself wallow in the shower for more than a few minutes.

Once I got out and put on the spare clothing I almost felt human again. I tossed my previous outfit into a plastic bag, and put on a pair of jeans and an oversized shirt bearing the logo of some college that was probably too expensive to think about.

"I liked the other one better," Maggie said as I walked into room, referencing my shirt, "it had a puppy on it."

I stuffed the laundry into the sports bag. "Don't tell Mouse that. He might get jealous."

Mouse just gruffed from his spot in the corner. He was curled up in a makeshift bed of sheets and blankets.

I gave them instructions to stay in the room and went downstairs. The inn had a free-use phone for guests, with blank and crisp sign-in sheet on a clipboard beside it. I looked around, but the entryway was barren of any workers. Man, I'd stopped working off the honor system back in grade school.

I dialed my voicemail service that I'd set up when we'd moved into the apartment back in Boston. The fee was crazy, but taking other people's messages for them was a time-honored tradition that no amount of technology could wipe out apparently, even though I'm sure the intern on the other end of the line resented me for even considering such an outdated concept. I had three messages: one was the clipped, and scissor-sharp voice of a homeroom teacher asking for yet another meeting with me regarding Maggie's behavior. The next was my manager at the bar I worked at asking where I was, wondering why I'd skipped out on two days already.

The last was Tom, the guy who'd hired me to do muscle work for the construction company. I wasn't safe around the electronic equipment, but I was good enough to help with the manual labor. It was harsh, backbreaking work, the kind a young man thinks he can do forever until age comes up and plants a two by four in his spine.

"Dresden. You stupid shit. Don't bother coming in tomorrow. Check's in the mail."

So much for my sick days.

I stared at the receiver in my hand blankly for a second before putting it back in the dock.

The world made so much more sense when all I had to worry about was evil demons and faeries.

*******

I didn't have a car yet and the way into town was barely a warm-up, so after telling Maggie and Mouse to stay in the room until I got back, I left Granny's inn on foot. The walk into town was peppered with instances of a not-painful twinge in my left arm whenever my coat brushed against the raw skin where my shield bracelet used to be. I'd have to get someone to look it over at some point, but it wasn't the first time my hand got burned and the nerves are still a little numb. At least there wasn't a flamethrower this time.

Storybrooke was practically gushing with nature, a stark contrast to the stone and business of Boston. I'll always be a city-boy at heart, but I can appreciate nature when I see it. I'd spent a few crucial years on a farm in the Ozarks where there wasn't much to do  _except_  appreciate nature. Trees and branches lined the road, and autumn leaves decorated the ground like floral tiles. Brambles and dead wood crept up on both sides, a sign of the waning of summer and the incoming winter.

I tentatively reached out with my senses and tried to get a feel for the place. I'd been careful with the amount of power I'd put in the wards around my room, trying not to expend too much into powering something that was going to be gone within a few sunrises. I didn't know how far the Ginorma-circle went or how much magic I still had with me, so I'd prepared myself to (once again) be strapped for magic within a hostile circle.

Circles are the most basic of defenses anyone can conjure, but they are handy for a lot of things. They keep things out, but they also keep things in. Magic can't cross the boundary willy-nilly, so what's inside stays inside and eventually, just like a room that hasn't been opened for a while, things start feeling a little musty. Magic is alive, as much as any force of nature can be, but you can generally tell when it starts to taste stale. Two days should have been enough time for that to happen, no matter how wide of a net this thing had cast.

However, I couldn't feel anything wrong with it.

So, another thing to add to the list of questions I had. As far as I knew, circles were unchangeable. Sure, their purpose could be altered, but it's not like you can just make rain fall up instead of down.

I paused in my thoughts to watch a pair of squirrels fly out into the street from one of the trees. They were doing that thing that squirrels did when one disagrees with the other and they try to bite it out. At least that's what I always imagined.

I arrived at Storybrooke proper around half past ten, according to the clock tower conveniently placed in the center of town. A few pickup trucks passed by rattling with tools in the back. Main Street covered the town from one end to the other in a single long stretch. The mom and pop shops were open now. Clock makers, pawn shops, clothing stores. I passed a laundromat that had a neo-lit sign saying "Open" but with no one inside.

Some of the locals were walking outside, and some of them even smiled at me. Most just avoided looking in my direction. One even crossed the street.

Nice to know people were still people in this world.

I decided to stop by the diner we'd passed on our way into town a few nights ago. I needed information and wherever there's food and drink is always a good spot to start.

"Mr. Dresden!" Granny said as soon as I walked in, "I see you decided to come out of your room."

There was only one other person in the place, a dark-skinned man in a suit sitting in one of the booths. He had a notepad and newspaper in front of him and a fedora to the side. Granny was just walking out from behind the counter with a cup of what I suppose was coffee. She had a different shawl on from last time, but still held that stern matronly look that'd make young men and mind their p's and q's.

"Good morning, ma'am," I said, and took a seat at the counter. The smell of bacon and eggs wafted in from the kitchen window and for a moment I had to stop myself from drooling. "Are you still serving breakfast?"

Granny made that clucking disapproving sound all grandmothers instinctively know how to do as she finished delivering the coffee and came right back around the divider. "Breakfast ended several hours ago, Mr. Dresden." For a moment I thought she was going to continue, but then the sun shone through her stormy expression. "However, I've been told our Early Bird omelet's delicious no matter what time of day it is."

"I'll have that then. Two of them if you please. Can I pick them up in say an hour?"

"Not a problem," Granny said, "You got business in town?"

"That obvious?"

"It's a small town, Mr. Dresden," she smiled knowingly as she wrote down my order, "You and Miss Swan are the first guests I've had in awhile."

Hah, called it. Score one for the wizard. "Swan's staying at the inn, too?"

"Checked in just last night," she said, placing a cup of steaming hot coffee in front of me, "I didn't know you two knew each other."

I sipped at the coffee, ignoring the question that we both knew she was asking. The less people that knew about this whole long-lost-kid mess, the better. I was already dreading talking to Henry's adoptive mother. Call me cynical but mothers in general aren't receptive to strange unshaven men hanging around their children.

After some questions, I found out the Town Hall was a few blocks away. It turns out the Mayor had something of an open-door policy for the citizens of Storybrooke.

"Not that anybody really does, mind you," Granny warned, sliding the slip with my order in the window leading to the kitchens, "she doesn't really do with nonsense and no one wants to bother her with their troubles."

I drank my coffee, not saying a thing. Granny seemed to be sharp as a tack, so for her to warn me meant something.

I made my escape when Granny went into the back to get some napkins. I left a tip on the counter and tried to keep the bell from ringing too loudly when I left.

Something about this place was starting to set my teeth on edge.

I've been in the detective business for a while now, even if I did have an unplanned literal dirt nap slash coma that kept me out of commission for most of a year. I've seen things that no innocent person should have to know about let alone fight, and in that time I've come to develop a gut feeling about these sorts of things. I was tempted to use my Sight and take a look but I've been trying to cut back on using that. I'd been pretty liberal with my usage of the True Eye when I was younger, and the things I've Seen things in my time have both humbled and terrified me. I wasn't prepared to add another potential nightmare to the list.

The clock struck eleven, a loud gonging sound that seemed to startle a man walking his dog. I stood there, observing this picturesque town and its postcard-like ambiance.

I hadn't had a chance to check yet but I'd bet my staff that the circle hadn't been broken since the night we arrived. That just meant something bad was going to happen to this town, and these people.

I took my time walking to Town Hall. It'd been awhile since I'd been gumshoeing and I didn't realize how much I'd missed it until now. I waved at the few brave souls who dared to look in my direction, but I tried not to be too conspicuous about where I was going.

The building itself was unexpectedly grand in comparison to the rest of the town. It was a large colonial style building with its own estate. Off-white pillars lined the front of the building like giant guardsmen with the windows gleaming in the autumn sun as their shields. It had a rounding driveway with professionally sculpted hedges on both sides of the paved path down the middle.

I quickly shuffled along the path and made my way through one of its red entrance doors. I surveyed the area as I wiped my dry-crust mudded boots.

The inside was opulent in its own way. There was a spiraling oak staircase to the left when you first entered, with a large set of double doors just a little ways in front. There was a high counter like at a bank tellers, behind which a professionally dressed young woman sat. She was typing away at a computer with all the monotony and dissatisfaction only a millennial can manage. She looked up when she heard me come in, and for a moment she seemed confused, both at my appearance and at what to do now that it was time to do her job.

"Mayor's office?" I called out, staying in the entrance.

She pointed to the staircase, but kept staring. I heard the 'clack clack' of the buttons resume when I was halfway up the stairs.

In contrast to the outside of the building and the first floor, the second floor was decorated in a more modern fashion. Art and sculptures that probably cost more than my yearly rent lined the walls. Diamond shaped black and white tile dazzled the floor like a chessboard. It paired nicely with what I assumed to be a painting of the mayor that loomed ominously opposite of where some expensive looking furniture lay in the corner. The place was spotless, completely sterile and empty of any warmth in that special way only money can bring.

I started inspecting the painting. It was done in the traditional sense, where the subject tried to look serious, severe, and even a little dangerous. The difference between this one and others I'd seen is that here Regina Mills managed to look the part while smiling.

"Come in!"

As an extension of the waiting area and in contrast to the foyer, the office itself was so lavishly arranged with modern art and pieces of furniture that looked like it came straight from Vogue magazine. There was a fireplace crackling merrily to the side, ebony columns marked the corners of walls, and snow-white drapes speckled with ebony splotches covered the windows. The floor was some type of rock, marble most likely, in an unassuming shade of grey that belied the coldness of the place. There was a bowl full of bright red apples on the night stand, the only spot of color in the otherwise empty room.

Regina Mills didn't count.

She sat in front of a wide desk, papers and official looking documents and manilla folders that all gave the impression of someone too busy to deal with the worries of ordinary people. She wore an ashen business dress, pumps, and a crop cut that accentuated the curve of her neck and the single chain she wore around it. She had no other jewelry save for a single ring on her hand. Her eyes were flint as she looked me up and down, sizing me up. She was attractive, but I've been burned enough to know that, with people of power, attractive just mean dangerous.

"Can I help you?" she asked in a tone that said the exact opposite.

My palms itched. What I wouldn't give to have my staff with me right now.

I cleared my throat. "Uh hi. I'm Harry. Dresden, that is. The P.I.? I'm here about your son, Henry?"

I saw the light of recognition flitter behind her eyes. "Ah yes. The wizard."

I gave her my best winning smile. "Best one this side of the Narnia."

"Quite." A few seconds passed as she composed herself and came around the desk. "What can I help you with Mr. Dresden? Is it about the issue with the credit card?"

"He told you about that?"

She smiled, which sent goosebumps down my arm. "There's nothing I don't know about my son, detective. We have a very close relationship."

Well, won't this be awkward then. "It's not just the matter of payment, it's-" I paused. How do you tell a mother her child might be bewitched by a magical object? I thought back on past conversations with Charity and winced. "Has Henry...ever told you anything about a book? A collection of fairy tales, specifically."

Regina scowled. "Again with this book."

"So you know about it?"

"This is not the first time I've heard about it," she said, pausing to consider her next words, "He's never shown it to me but I've seen him carrying it around the house," her nose upturned, as if in disgust, "His schoolteacher told me about it as well."

That...makes this a whole lot easier.

We moved to the furniture, she sat on a lush monochromatic chair with a high back and I on the sofa opposite hers. "Have you noticed anything odd about it in particular?"

She crossed her legs, revealing smooth supple skin. "Odd? Odd how?"

"Since he's gotten the book, has Henry been behaving differently? Erratic maybe?"

"Henry has been having a stressful time recently. I don't see how a book has anything to do with it."

"Are you sure?" I pressed, "Think back. Has he ever done the sorts of things he's did before he found it?"

"Mr. Dresden," she sighed, "are you going to tell me what this is about or am I going to have vacate you from my office?"

The winds of Winter inside me stirred at the challenge but I kept a tight lid on it. I told myself it was just her way of dealing with stress. "I believe Henry's book is dangerous. Magically dangerous."

She stared at me with an unreadable gaze. I stared back until I felt the beginnings of the soul gze begin. I almost let it happen, but that was the reckless part of me speaking - the part that had burned down buildings and started vampire wars. It would be the easiest way to convince her I was the real thing, that I only wanted to help, but something like that was intense and in depending on what you saw, mentally scarring. I didn't want to traumatize her just because she didn't believe in the tooth fairy.

I looked away and from the way she huffed I knew I'd lost whatever respect she might have had for me.

"Do you take me for a fool, Mr. Dresden?"

I let out a long breathy sigh. "I know how this sounds-"

"I'm not sure you do," she interrupted, "otherwise you and Ms. Swan wouldn't have come up with such a ludicrous plan."

"She doesn't know about this."

"Oh, really?" The dismissiveness of her tone increased. "And that should make me believe you more? A self-advertised wizard who only started putting ads in the paper last week. Yes, I looked into you."

We stared each other down and once again I had to look away. The wintry gale inside of me slammed against its cage. I could feel this conversation going nowhere so I decided to try an alternate route.

"I have a daughter," I said.

"Of course you do."

"And it's because I have a I daughter that I understand," I closed my eyes and thought of her, so small and fragile in the remains of Chichen Itza, "I know what it's like when the world just reaches around your neck and starts to choke you because monsters are threatening to take them away. I know what it's like when your gut is telling you something's wrong, something's not right with your child." Hells bells, I still wake up in the middle of the night sometimes, remembering Nicodemus and his daughter and what became of her. "I know your instinct is to deny it, to throw it in the closet and forget about it but Regina….sometimes, the monsters are real."

"The only kind of monsters I've met are people...though I do admit," she looked me up and down, "they usually have a better fashion sense."

I tugged at the edges of my worn hoodie, and said, with an edge to my voice. "Sorry, they ran out of suits at the supernatural dollar store."

Her nostrils flared, and her lips pressed together.

"You are not the first person to come to me about my son, Mr. Dresden," she continued, voice low and almost nonchalant, "You're not even the second. I've had to face a lot of opposition since his adoption, a lot of well-intentioned people and  _experts_  have offered me advice or warnings about my son and his fantasies."

She stood up then, but I remained seated. I watched her carefully as she walked around the sofa and to her desk. She opened the drawer and took out a block of paper, grabbed a pen and started writing. The sound of her rapid scribbling seemed muffled by the tension. I had to choose my next words very carefully.

I've had a lot of practice with people in denial. Most of the time, I'm fine with just letting it be, but this is  _her child_  we're talking about.

She came around again, the cold staccato of her heels on marble echoing in the room. She handed me a piece of paper, a check. "That should be enough to cover your fees and fare back to Boston."

I grunted and tried to keep the frustration out of my voice. "I'm not here about the money, lady."

She scoffed. "I stopped believing in the goodwill of strangers long ago, Mr. Dresden. I'm not sure what your game is here but-"

"Henry asked for my help. I did that. Waved my wand and found his mother. Bibbidy bobbidy boo. This is is pro bono."

" _I'm_  his mother," Regina shot back, practically growling, "And I'm supposed to believe a man with no car or even cell phone crossed state lines just for that? Concern for a stranger?"

"Regina, you can't tell me that you haven't seen it. Henry's not normal."

"There's nothing I don't know about in regards to my son, and I know he's perfectly  _fine_ , thank you."

"Sure thing Big Brother," I said, and then under my breath ,"Maybe you're why he's so unhappy."

Even as I said it I knew I'd crossed a line.

"What did you just say?" For a moment I thought she'd actually hit me, but then I saw the outrage crack and something raw and painful appeared. "Did Henry say that?" she asked, her voice was barely above a whisper.

I sighed. "He doesn't have to. You just have to talk to him. When was the last time you really talked with him?"

She was quiet for a moment, and in that one instant I almost thought I had her.

She shook her head and said, "No, I'm not falling for this Mr. Dresden. I talked to him at dinner last night." She smiled humorlessly. "We had chicken carbonara. Now, I suggest you and your daughter leave. Tonight preferably. Storybrooke doesn't have a homeless population. I'd like to keep it that way."

I stood up, and stepped in close. I usually try not to propagate the male meathead thing, but I'm well over six feet tall and I look like a particularly thuggish extra from Die Hard. When you literally loom over someone they tend to notice. Evolution's hard-wired us to go 'meep' when something big and mean and nasty casts its shadow over you. There's just something deeply ingrained in us that makes us take notice. I've made trained professionals back off whenever I'd gotten my wizard game on. These were people trained to take down things five times their supernatural weight class, people who'd looked into the abyss and flipped it off.

Regina Mills didn't move an inch.

There's stupid and then there's dangerous, and right now, I was wondering which she was more.

I grabbed the check she offered me and stuffed it in my pocket. This was Faith Astor all over again.

"Your son is in danger."

"My son is  _sick_ , Mr. Dresden," she snarled, her beautiful face contorted with the kind of disgust people usually reserve for roaches or month old fruit, "And people like you and Emma Swan are exactly the kind of influences in his life he doesn't need right now."

I said nothing. I ran through the Fibonacci sequence in my head and pretended not to notice the sheen of her skin in the fireplace glow. The Mantle of the Winter Knight was as much about taking and devouring as it was about challenge and conquering, and I'd remembered too little too late just what kind of woman she was.

Dangerous.

I forced myself to walk away before I did something really stupid. It had been a while the Mantle had acted up like this and I wasn't going to let it sucker punch me into hurting someone.

I didn't slam the door on my way out, and nothing caught fire either, which just goes to show that I  _have_  been getting better.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Delayed as all getup, but hey, at least it's out before Peace Talks?
> 
> Dresden's a snarky jerk, but he does try to help. It's just that his version of help is often better for large-scale deforestation or assaulting ridiculously fortified places of Power.
> 
> I'll try and be more consistent with the updates, but I do still hope people are willing to lend advice or ask questions.
> 
> 'Til next time!


	5. And to face a great darkness...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where bending wills is a Bad Thing.

**Chapter 5 - And to face a great darkness...**

I picked up the omelets from Grannie's and skedaddled before the lunch rush started. I meandered down the same road I'd taken into town, mulling over my options. Autumn was knocking on the door, and with it the early afternoon breezes that could sock you a good one if you weren't ready. Storybrooke was a relatively compressed town amidst large tracts of uninhabited land, with only the one road leading in and out to the rest of the world. I could smell the salt water in the air, so I had to assume it had a port somewhere.

I got back to the inn a little after noon and spent the rest of the day shoring up the defenses in the room while talking with my daughters. Maggie was a quiet little thing, a waif of a girl who liked to stay in the corner and be forgotten by most, and I had her work on more schoolwork while I talked with Bonnie. Normally at this point I'd have dropped Maggie off with Michael and his squad of angelic bodyguards just because there was probably nowhere safer for her, but they might as well be in outer space for how accessible they were.

At least she liked Granny's omelet.

"I don't understand," Bonnie said as I took the moment to gulp down a water bottle, "Why didn't you make Regina Mills understand?"

"Uhh...I tried?"

"No, you talked," Bonnie's eyes shifted side to side as if she were shaking her head, "It would have gone much faster if you'd soulgazed her. Or put the memories in her head. Or shown her magic. Or just  _made_ her agree."

I repressed a chill that had nothing do with temperature. "Kid, we've talked about this."

The lights of her eyes dimmed. "I don't understand."

"Do you know what happens when someone magically imposes their will on another?"

"Yes, they become more pliant and amenable."

"In the short-term, yes," my tone was short and clipped, "But what are the long term ramifications of exerting a foreign will on another mortals soul?"

"Depending on the skill level and care of the practitioner, the target's psyche begins to unravel itself," Bonnie's voice was cheerfully macabre, "The subject's mind starts to eat away at the subject, the foundations of the mind crumbling as the mortal's will clashes and becomes subsumed by the outsider's. Common symptoms include shaking, vomiting, paranoid delu- oh! This is a Bad Thing, isn't it?"

"Yes. It is."

"Understood!" The skull ratted on the table eagerly.

I let out a misty breath. Every time I think she's learning, she goes and pulls an Addams Family on me.

"Anyway, that's why I didn't soulgaze her either," I continued, and then said in a hushed tone. "Last time I did that was at Chichen Itza."

"I remember that," Bonnie's eyes bopped up and and down as if nodding, "You've gotten much better at killing things since then."

Children should not sound so happy when they say things like that. "I don't want to inflict that kind of damage on her. Kinda goes against the whole protector of the innocent thing."

"I thought you were the Winter Knight?"

"They're not mutually exclusive."

"Ah." Bonnie was quiet for a moment and then said, "History seems to disagree."

"Yeah well, I was a C student," I said, and then in a rising voice, "which is  _not_  what you should be young lady. How's your homework coming?"

Maggie squeaked, and if that wasn't the most adorable sound ever then Thomas was an ugly hobo.

Now, none of my friends would ever say I'm an authoritarian kind of guy. The word alone makes me want to punch the nearest 1984-esque Orwellian figure in the face. But someone had to be the responsible one here and lack of better options has left it up to me. I only ever got a GED, because contrary to what certain authors will tell you, colleges don't offer degrees in kick-ass wizardry. Nowadays it's next to impossible to do anything without some higher form of education and I'll be damned if Maggie doesn't get her best shot because of my example.

Maggie shuffled in place for a second and then came over, Mouse trotting along. I put Bonnie away in the nightstand drawer and turned to her.

"Here," she handed me some worksheets and pointed to a specific section, "I don't really know what they mean by this part."

I looked down at the paper. English. It was talking about prepositional phrases and adverbs.

"How about we go for some ice cream, instead?"

Her face lit up instantly. Her dark eyes sparked with excitement and eagerness at the prospect of junk food. Guess she's more like me than I thought.

Mouse huffed and gave me a doggy grin.

"Shut up, you."

A voice in the back of my mind that sounded suspiciously like Charity Carpenter told me that I was just avoiding the problem. Just because I passed high school didn't mean I did well in it. The whole learning to wield the primordial forces of the universe puts a damper on remembering the intricacies of the English language.

I couldn't do this every time though. We'd been here in Storybrooke for a few days now and Maggie had been cooped up in the room for every bit of it. Now, she's the best kid in the world and I'll fight anyone who says otherwise, but she's still a child. Even better, she's a Dresden. They get into trouble. I can't just tell her to do her homework while I go gallivanting off to save the day.

I grabbed Bonnie from the drawer, put her in one of the many pockets in my duster, and locked the room as we left. There was nothing I could do to stop unwarranted visitors from going into our room if they really tried, but hopefully the locked door would dissuade any normies from trying. The protections I had set up would just knock them back a bit and let me know if someone tried.

As we went down the stairs, I noticed a man in the lobby who I could easily tell did not belong.

He wore a finely tailored dark charcoal suit, probably custom-fitted for his needs judging by the fine tailored seams. His hair was a deceptive grey that told me nothing about his age, and it fell down to his neck in a stringy mane. There was an ostentatiously sized ring on his hand, a gaudy and striking thing, and it was quite unlike his shoes, which shined brighter than the lightbulb in our Boston apartment. He was supporting himself on his cane, a dark wood with an expertly carved handle. There were age and smile lines on his face, but with a strange curve to them as if they were not from joy, but something else.

He was looking me in the eye as I took him in, something I very pointedly did not mirror. At one point, I realized I'd moved Maggie behind me. Mouse stepped up beside me. He wasn't growling but he very clearly wasn't the happy-go-lucky mutt he was just a moment ago.

The man was smiling.

"Mr. Dresden, I presume?" he asked. The voice was rich and Scottish. He reached out for a handshake.

I grasped it with my ungloved hand, and shook, skin to skin. "That's me. Who's asking?"

"People call me Mr. Gold," he said, retracting his hand and leaning on his elegant looking cane, "I own the pawn shop up the street."

I nodded and recalled the place in question. Other than looking well-stocked with trinkets, it was an unassuming storefront that hadn't really grabbed my attention. I had actually considered stopping by to see if they might have some of the more esoteric materials I sometimes needed for my own crafting.

Now, I suppose the smart and patient man would dance around the subject of who else this stranger was and why he was around the obviously deserted lobby waiting for me. Probably comment on the weather in an effort to bait out more information, too. I was not that man.

"What do you want from me?"

The lines around Gold's eyes crinkled as he smiled. It was genial and friendly and made me want to rub a cheese grater across my eyes. "I just wanted to meet the man who's the talk of the town. It's been awhile since we've had anything as exciting as you and Ms. Swan come around. It's really quite a sleepy town."

I thought back to that presence from that first night here. Sleepy. Right. "Oh you know how it is," I drawled, "City life is so boorish and loud. Just need to get away from it all once in awhile."

He quirked a brow at my tone, shook his head and chuckled. "Well, I can assure you, there's no place quite like our dear old Storybrooke." He looked behind me. "And how long do you plan on staying?"

"Just a few days," I said, and purposely moved into his line of sight with a not-quite stomp on the floor. I could hear Mouse's rumble go subsonic for a brief second, pricking goosebumps under my coat. "Why're you asking?"

I'll have to give him credit, the guy didn't bat an eye at either me or my small bear. Instead, Mr. Gold let out an appreciative hum and straightened in place."It just so happens that I've been looking for someone to help me with some errands, lately."

I gave him a flat look. "Errands."

"Precisely," he said. I caught another glimpse of a gold tooth when he grinned. "You're a detective are you not?"

It didn't surprise me that he knew about me already. All the dangerous ones do eventually.

He pulled something out from his front coat pocket. It was a small piece of chipped wood, about two inches long. There were splinters on the underside, and a few needlepoint thin woodburned markings on the other side. I recognized them as runic inscriptions to channel energy through physical material.

I recognized them because  _I_  was the one to painstakingly inscribe them, rune by infuriatingly complex rune, just a couple of months ago by candlelight back in Boston.

"Some entrepreneuring fellow found these out by the town line when they were clearing a fallen tree this morning," Gold said, holding it up to his eye level, "Found it and a few other pieces like it trapped underneath the roadblock. He came to me and asked if it was worth anything. I don't suppose you would know."

I knew a hook when I saw one. "Not a clue," I lied easily, "Looks like junk to me."

Gold's expression reminded me of an adult humoring a very ignorant child. "Yes, I suppose it does." He pocketed the chip, and tilted his head in a nod, "Well then Mr. Dresden, I really must be off, business to do, people to meet. Do keep in mind my offer though."

His eyes lingered on mine, crinkled with a heavy ill-hidden intent, and then he looked away. I could feel Winter rise up from where I'd buried it, yanking at its shackles with a sudden and fierce hostility, hackles raised, tooth and claw at the helm. It struck at my psyche like always, vicious and bloodthirsty, and I struggled not to let it show.

"Ah, a piece of advice," he said, nodding at Mouse, "You might want to look into a more permanent accommodation for her while you're here. Madam Mayor takes a very...personal approach to a child's wellbeing. I don't think leaving her alone all day is best."

He was talking about Maggie.

He'd been watching the house.

" _Out,_ " I told him. My tone was arctic. No help from Winter there.

Another smile. More amusement. "Take care dearie."

He about-faced and started walking out the door, his cane rapping against the floors with authority and purpose. We stood there, in the doorway, and watched him get in the back of a black four-door Porsche. The driver was one of those well-dressed types with slick hair and slimier smiles. Mr. Gold sent us an almost cheery wave, and got in. Greasy the driver closed the door, briefly assessed us, and then got in himself. The Porsche hummed to life like a well-tuned harp, and turned down the driveway.

We waited, each of us, watching the car pull out of the contradictorily decorated yard. When it finally pulled out of sight, hidden by the treeline, I let out a slow, controlled breath, releasing the energy I'd gathered with my will harmlessly into the air above us. The air had started to crisp.

"Maggie," I said, staring at where we last saw the car, "If you're ever alone with that man, I want you to run."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rumple's interested in this new variable. Who is this fool bearing the title of wizard in this land without magic?
> 
> Not too much to say here other than Bonnie's a delight to write, and that my beta is a fantastic human being who puts up with my incessant nannering about what-ifs and should-haves far too patiently.
> 
> Critiques and criticism as always are welcomed.


End file.
